


Pretty Picture

by Karellen



Series: Stolen Paintings, Stolen Hearts [2]
Category: The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014)
Genre: (Mostly in chapter 2), (but only a little - he’s improving), (can be read as an extension to Heart’s a Mess or as a one-shot), Established Relationship, Fluff, Insecurities, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Nothing too graphic but rated E to be safe, Praise Kink, just pure fluff honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:28:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26453383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karellen/pseuds/Karellen
Summary: Dmitri discovers one of Gustave’s old photo albums, and decides that it really couldn’t hurt to take a peek inside...
Relationships: Dmitri Desgoffe und Taxis/Gustave H.
Series: Stolen Paintings, Stolen Hearts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1711426
Comments: 28
Kudos: 29





	1. M. H. (1910)

It was a rainy day in mid-October, and Count Dmitri Desgoffe-und-Taxis was terribly bored. True, he was happy to do nothing but lounge around Schloss Lutz all day when the sun was shining, but once the choice to go outside was taken away from him, he always grew agitated.

  
As if to prove a point, he swore at the rain as it pattered against the bedroom window. If he didn’t find something to keep him occupied soon, he might draw dangerously close to adopting Gustave’s level of pedantry and alphabetising their book collection, or some such bullshit.

Therefore, when he discovered an old photo album tucked away on a nearby shelf, it seemed like a decent enough way to kill some time. Judging by the purple binding, it was Gustave’s (he himself would never have bought anything in the colour, after all - in the eyes of his former, more repressed self, this would practically have been an _admission_ to fucking men). Would this be some invasion of privacy? He reasoned that Gustave probably would have taken more care to hide it, if it were something particularly secret - besides, what part of the former concierge hadn’t he seen already?

Intrigued, he seated himself on the end of the bed and started thumbing through the pages.

Hmm... he didn’t recognise _these_ people - three men, in similar tailcoats, one wearing a turban. Nor did he recognise the tall, suited woman in the following photograph. Ah! _There_ was Gustave, looking pensively into the camera.

_  
Goddamn_. Dmitri found Gustave handsome enough now, but the old photograph made it clear that the foundations had always been there. What a gorgeous young man he’d been, with those high cheekbones and slightly sad, pale eyes. He’d kept the same moustache throughout the years, and more or less the same hairstyle - the old man really _was_ resistant to change, wasn’t he? He probably even smelled the same back then, Dmitri mused. Fuck, but it all suited him so well - there was no need to fix what had never been broken to begin with.

Sometimes he wished he _had_ kissed Gustave on that night, over 20 years ago.  


  
He still dreamt about it often.

He could have taken that beautiful man away from the bustling party, away from his mother’s prying eyes and the judgemental stares of those other high-society bastards he’d always despised. He could have dragged him into his suite, and pulled him into bed - he’d been a scrawny little fuck then, but with all that lust flowing through him, he probably could have managed it.

They could have had so many more years together. The thought made him frown as he continued looking through the pictures. But... could they have, really? Would he have been able to deal with his shame whilst his mother was still alive? Gustave almost certainly wouldn’t have been ready for a serious relationship, so it likely would have ended in heartbreak. Perhaps, by some miracle, some kind stroke of fate, they had fallen in love at just the right time.

  
Absent-mindedly, he turned another page, and - holy _fuck_!

Yes, he’d been expecting (and possibly hoping for) _something_ salacious in Gustave’s photograph collection, but he hadn’t expected the transition to total nudity to be quite so fucking sudden.

_Well_. _Fuck_. It was certainly a pleasant surprise. There was his man, captured in slightly faded black and white, sprawled across a bed in some unfamiliar, opulent room, without a stitch of clothing. The first... well, no, the _second_ thing that drew Dmitri’s eye was Gustave’s expression - he was smiling widely, his eyes closed contentedly, having clearly been in the presence of some beloved partner or another.

He’d always had a lovely smile, then - that wasn’t new either. God, the way the light fell across his body, highlighting his best features, whilst the shadows defined the curves of muscle and angles of bone - Dmitri had never seen anything like it before.  


Prior to meeting Gustave, he’d tried ever so hard not to look at men in this way. That, after all, would have been fucking _queer._ These days, he didn’t exactly know _what_ he was, but he knew just enough to know that he liked this. 

He finally managed to tear his gaze away from that image, only to find a similar one on the following page. And the page after that. And after that. He had a _lot_ of material to study here, evidently - this had definitely been a good idea.

In some images, Gustave stared at the camera lasciviously - an expression Dmitri knew all too well. In others, he put on an air of haughtiness, as if he fucking _knew_ what a goddamn work of art he was, and how lucky the person behind the camera was to be seeing him like this. What lucky bastard _had_ been behind the camera, Dmitri wondered. He knew Gustave was quite well-connected with many of Zubrowka’s creative types (having likely fucked most of them), so perhaps these pictures had been strictly an artistic endeavour.

... Oh, that was bullshit; you didn’t look like _that_ at someone who had a solely artistic interest in your body. Fuck, he’d heard rumours of Gustave’s wonderfully seedy, lavishly degenerate exploits, but to actually _see_ evidence of this? It was... turning him on to a frankly dangerous degree. He wasn’t sure _what_ he might do when he next ran into Gustave.

  
Apparently, you didn’t even need to _speak_ of the devil; thinking of him would suffice.

As always, the scent of L’Air de Panache announced Gustave’s arrival.

“Ah, Dmitri, there you are” he said.  
  


“Fuck!” Dmitri exclaimed, nearly dropping the album.

  
“Oh!” Said Gustave, looking pleasantly amused. “You found that, did you? I’m rather proud of some of those, I must admit. I was quite a lovely young man, wasn’t I?”

Well, he couldn’t lie. Here he was, very noticeably hard, staring at some admittedly artistically framed nude photos of the man. But... he’d technically seen all this before, hadn’t he? Just an older version, really. Why _should_ he be ashamed of this? 

“Yeah” he replied. “I mean, fuck... you sure were. Sure _are_. How come you never pose for me like this?”

  
It was out of his mouth before he truly realised what he was saying. But, ah, Gustave H. - always a whore for compliments; he smiled graciously and blushed at the impulsive question.

“Well, darling,” he said, “I was 27 when these were taken. I’m hardly in such good shape now; I doubt I’d be such a joy to look at.”

“Bullshit” Dmitri interrupted him. 

“Well,” Gustave chuckled, “in my youth, I was-“

“-just a younger version of the man you are now?” said Dmitri. “ _This_ man? Who I fucking _love_?” 

He didn’t say it often, and the word still felt strange leaving his mouth. Not bad, exactly - it was unfamiliar, but still left a pleasant aftertaste.

“Well, sweetheart,” said Gustave, shifting closer to him to kiss and nuzzle against his neck, “if you’d like to see me like this, in the flesh, then you shall. The camera can hide many flaws, though.”

“Don’t care” said Dmitri. “Goddamn, you know how lucky I feel to have you?”

Briefly, Gustave stopped his ravishing.

“Do you really mean that?” he asked.

“Of course I fucking mean it” Dmitri replied.

“ _Oh_...” Gustave looked genuinely touched. “That’s lovely of you to say. The feeling’s mutual, I can assure you.”

Dmitri had something bold in mind. He was almost too nervous to suggest it, but he’d already implied it, really, and if he couldn’t talk about his desires openly with the man who regularly fucked him, who _could_ he bare his soul to?

Smiling slightly, he flicked through the album again until he found the photograph he was after.

“Could you... get on that couch and lie like this for me, please?” he asked, trying his best to project some confidence.

“Such manners” Gustave teased. “If that’s what His Excellency desires, how can I possibly refuse?”

As Gustave strolled over the couch and set about unfastening various buttons, Dmitri placed the photo album safely back onto the shelf. 

God, he _was_ lucky to have this man.

Some day soon, he would have to acquire a camera.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I hadn’t even thought about this film for a while, but this idea suddenly popped into my head, so here you go.
> 
> \- Writing soft Dmitri is challenging, honestly, because he’s usually such a dick. Over time, it’s possible some of Gustave’s niceness could rub off on him.
> 
> \- I really like the idea that, although he swears like a sailor, whenever Dmitri’s confronted by something actually risqué he’s just like “... the fuck???” (I mean, it’s practically canon).
> 
> (Final chapter of Heart’s a Mess will be up soon - quarantine’s just been bad for my productivity.)


	2. Count D-u-T (1934)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dmitri overcomes his various hang-ups and lets Gustave photograph him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this was originally meant to be a one-shot, but I started writing this second chapter one evening and it kind of got out of control. Thought I’d post it anyway, even though it’s just pure fluff (to be honest, the ending of the film’s so incredibly tragic in canon that we all need a little fluff, right?)

Eventually, after much effort, Dmitri had managed to capture half a dozen photographs that Gustave had deemed acceptable. 

It had been a difficult endeavour for multiple reasons. Firstly, he had no real experience of photography; the Desgoffe-und-Taxis family had always hired a professional photographer for any occasions which demanded commemoration, so being on the other side of the camera was foreign to him. As soon as they’d begun, he’d realised that there was probably quite a lot more to it than just pushing a button.

Secondly, for a man who’d been seen naked by so many people, and who appeared so outwardly confident, Gustave could be surprisingly insecure. He’d been full of questions, asking whether this lighting was flattering, or if his stomach was sticking out too much, or if this particular pose made his skin wrinkle in an unsightly way. He was particularly unhappy about the bullet wound scar on his shoulder, despite Dmitri’s reassurance that it really wasn’t all that noticeable. 

For what it was worth, Dmitri was just glad to have him here, alive. He really couldn’t see the problem; to him, Gustave seemed fit and strong and, strangely, he managed to look just as dignified out of his finely-tailored clothes as he did in them. 

Which led him to his final difficulty - namely that, seeing Gustave this way, it had been incredibly hard to simply look and not touch. He could be a maddeningly distracting man. Eventually, of course, he’d had to give in to temptation; the couple of photos taken after the fact - their subject looking far more dishevelled and a great deal more relaxed - were by far his favourites of the bunch. 

It was fortunate, really, that Gustave was still good friends with the man who had taken those original photos, as Dmitri could hardly have trusted just anyone to develop these. The press would have a field day if they found out that the richest man in the former Republic of Zubrowka got up to _this_ in his spare time. 

Vincenzo Kofler lived in Lutz’s Northern Quarter. He was advanced in years, and his hearing wasn’t quite what it used to be, but he had persevered with his hobby long after his official retirement. Sometimes, he took photos for The Trans-Alpine Yodel; just the previous year, his series on the return of the Glossy Fruit-Warbler had been met with considerable acclaim. 

He lived with his apprentice, Nils, and half a dozen Siamese cats. He had been delighted to see Gustave again and, luckily, hadn’t asked too many questions. He had, however, allegedly commented that if Gustave had found a lover with whom he felt this comfortable, he was a very lucky man indeed.

Overall, it had been a successful experiment, and it seemed to have left Gustave feeling a little more sure of himself. If that was what it took to convince him that his middle-aged self was still attractive as fuck, thought Dmitri, then so be it.

Two weeks passed. 

Even though he’d anticipated Gustave’s request, somehow it still came as a shock.

“Darling...” he said one morning, in that particular gentle tone he used whenever he was about to ask for something. “Would you like me to photograph you?”

Dmitri looked up from his newspaper, trying hard not to resemble a deer in the headlights.

“Fuck” he said, unable to stop the exclamation from spilling out of his mouth. 

“We needn’t do it if it would make you uncomfortable,” Gustave added, hastily. “It was merely a suggestion.”

Rationally, he supposed, he shouldn’t feel uneasy about it - Gustave _had_ already seen all of him that there was to see, after all. At least in the physical sense, there were no secrets between the two of them anymore. 

“I mean, I didn’t say no,” said Dmitri, after a moment’s consideration. “I just don’t know why the fuck you’d want to do that.”

“Why did you want to photograph _me_?” Gustave asked.

Dmitri knew that whatever he said here would inevitably - and in the nicest possible way - be thrown back at him, so he decided it was best to be truthful.

“I don’t fucking know,” he replied.“I like to look at you, and... I like it when you feel good about yourself, I guess.”

Gustave beamed.

“Thank you, Dima,” he said. “That’s precisely the point. You _do_ understand it, you see.”

Even after all the times he’d seen it, it was hard for Dmitri not to be moved by that smile. He’d rarely had anyone look at him with such tenderness, and it had truly shocked him to discover how much he needed it. 

“Easy for you to say,” he replied, and took a sip of his coffee. “I bet hundreds of people have seen your bare ass. And _you_ look nice.” 

Gustave laughed softly as he came to sit on the large, velvet couch next to Dmitri.

“Oh, come now, darling,” he protested. “I hardly think ‘hundreds’ is accurate... although...” he looked pensive for a moment. “It’s not as though I keep a list. And if I look nice, you must look better still - you’re the one with the looks in our partnership, I’ve always considered it so.” 

Dmitri rolled his eyes, but smiled all the same. 

“Oh,” he said, “so you’re the brains and I’m the pretty face?”

“Well,” said Gustave, “I wouldn’t put it in quite such simplistic terms, but... you’re certainly very handsome.”

There was such sincerity in his words that Dmitri was forced to believe them. 

“I’ll think about it” he said. 

Not really a yes, not exactly a no - that would buy him some time to come up with a real answer.

***

Dusk fell, and Dmitri changed out of his day clothes and into his silk dressing gown. He would wear nothing beneath it, he decided; whatever happened this evening, he would likely have some cause to disrobe in a hurry.

It wouldn’t be too bad, he supposed, to have some mementos of their time together. It might be quite nice, in years to come, to look back at photos of his young self, if Gustave managed to take any flattering ones.

That was a _big_ if. He’d never particularly enjoyed being photographed. However, even though Gustave wasn’t a professional photographer, he undoubtedly had a good sense of the aesthetic. 

As he entered their bedroom, he saw Gustave, sitting on the edge of the bed in his violet pyjamas, holding their camera. 

“Ah, Dima!” he said, chirpily. “I have this all set up, if you’re ready to proceed.”

Dmitri shrugged.

“I mean,” he said, “I suppose we can.”

Gustave seemed concerned.

“You don’t sound particularly enthused by the prospect,” he said, setting the camera down. “Really, darling, if you’d rather not do this, it’s perfectly fine.”

Tentatively, Dmitri smiled; he was ever grateful for the Gustave’s politeness in the bedroom. He knew that the older man cared for him deeply, and that he always wanted to ensure he was comfortable, and that meant an awful lot. It was such a marvellous thing to have one’s needs so thoroughly respected.

It made him feel safe. He hadn’t felt that way in years. 

“It’s okay,” he said. “I mean, I don’t have a problem with it, so long as we can keep this secret.”

“Of course,” said Gustave. “Signor Kofler is a dear friend of mine; we can trust him.”

“It’s not just that,” Dmitri said, slumping down onto the edge of the bed. “I don’t know _what_ it is. Perhaps I don’t think I’ll look good enough.”

There it was: honesty. Hadn’t Gustave once told him that that was important? God, it was painful - there was still a significant part of him that thought he really shouldn’t be baring his emotions at all, but he usually felt better for having let them out.

“Dima...” said Gustave, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Do you really believe that? Could you take that robe off for a moment and let me see you?”

He did as Gustave had asked, rising to his feet and letting his robe fall to the floor. _Damn it_ , he knew he shouldn’t feel so uneasy about this - not after they’d seen one another so many times before.

Still, the look on Gustave’s face was reassuring, and could only be described as awe.

“I’m not sure how one can be so very beguiling without being aware of it,” he commented. “You’re sensational, love. Absolutely splendid.”

“I’m kind of scrawny” Dmitri protested, but lay back onto the bed nonetheless.

“You’re elegant!” Gustave assured him, shifting over slowly until he was straddling the Count.

“My face is nothing special either.”

“‘Nothing special’?” said Gustave, cupping Dmitri’s face in his soft hands. “I’m afraid I must object. These cheekbones, for example,” he rubbed them lightly with his thumbs. “Chiselled. Ethereally lovely. Those eyes? So divine and melancholy - and see, you’re looking away now, love, you needn’t do that. Compliments are quite normal between lovers; you needn’t feel embarrassed.”

It wasn’t exactly embarassment that made Dmitri avert his eyes, he was simply overwhelmed. Years of being told (by his mother, for the most part) that his looks alone would never be enough to charm people hadn’t exactly worked wonders for his self esteem.

(Additionally, being praised by that soft, calm voice would always, without fail, make him unbearably aroused - a fact which Gustave surely knew well by now.) 

“I love this” Gustave continued, brushing a finger along Dmitri’s moustache. “You always keep it so neat. Your lips are perfect for kissing. That nose of yours belongs on a marble bust in a museum, it’s simply majestic. A handsome face for a delightful man.”

Dmitri could feel himself blushing. He’d always been a terrible blusher; he knew it was terribly un-masculine of him, but Gustave had never once mocked him for it, so it no longer concerned him as much as it once had.

“Thought you were all about symmetry” he commented, dryly. 

“Not always,” said Gustave. “A little asymmetry, in the right places, can make someone a great beauty. Why, I have living proof of this right in front of me.” 

To drive the point home, he placed a kiss on the bridge of Dmitri’s nose, then softy on his forehead and both cheeks. Dmitri truly wasn’t sure how much of this praise he could take before he either spontaneously combusted or commanded Gustave to fuck him right then and there. 

“Your hair is lovely,” said Gustave, running his fingers through it. “Very soft, and so thick - I must confess my jealousy. Your neck is positively swan-like, and these...”

He stroked Dmitri’s protruding collarbones, reverently.

“These are just wonderful. And I love this part, here.” He kissed the small indentation at the base of Dmitri’s neck. “What’s that called, by the way? Does it even have a name? No matter, of course, I love it all the same.”

There were, Dmitri thought, some benefits to fucking a man with such an eye for detail. However, as Gustave began to make his way further down his body, trailing kisses down his flat stomach, Dmitri found that he could no longer think about much else at all. 

“You have so many angles to you, darling, I just love it” Gustave said in wonder, as he gave Dmitri’s hipbones a thorough inspection with his hands and mouth. “Those legs... so long and lithe, and that’s without even mentioning what lies between them.” 

Dmitri shivered as Gustave kissed the sensitive skin on the inside of his thigh. Fuck, when had any of his previous partners done that to him? In the past, he’d often tried to fuck, then fuck _off_ as soon as possible - there had been little time for all this pleasant... _fucking around_ that Gustave so enjoyed. 

He glanced down to see Gustave resting his head on one of his narrow thighs, gazing up at him, all yearning and doe-eyed.

“Would it be out of order for me to say you’ve got the most beautiful cock I’ve ever seen?”

Goddamn it - how the fuck were you even meant to respond to something like that?

“Not when you’ve got your head in my lap, I guess,” Dmitri stammered. “You’ve probably seen a lot of them, huh?” 

“More than the average man, I suppose” Gustave replied. “I speak from experience, so you can certainly trust my opinion in these matters.”

“I bet you’ve said that to all the guys.”

“To some of them,” Gustave admitted, “and given my affection for the rest of you, I may be biased. But still, this is truly impressive...”

Softly, he ran his fingers up and down the length of it, and Dmitri gasped. This man was such a fucking tease - it was absurd. He loved every moment of it; Gustave seemed to know exactly the right way to play with his nerve endings and reduce him to a pile of mush. 

“You’re ravishing,” Gustave sighed, appreciatively. “Now can you understand why I’d want to capture all of that?” 

“Uh-huh, sure” Dmitri said. “But I have to warn you: if you don’t fuck me sometime soon, there’s no way I’ll be able to keep still for you.”

“Oh, well,” Gustave purred, “we can’t have that, can we? Let’s get you nice and relaxed, _darling_...”

In an instant, the ex-concierge was on top of him again. Dmitri had to give Gustave credit; the old fruit was fast when he had to be. He was also remarkably efficient at getting out of his clothes. Dmitri guessed this had been necessary during his life at the hotel - if you wanted to fuck in between shifts, you didn’t want to waste time fumbling with your uniform.

Fucking hell, it felt good to be so close to someone. There was a lot to be said for it, really - all that warmth and intimacy. Swallowing the last of his pride, he uttered those three words that Gustave so loved to hear.

“I need you.”

He’d wondered many times what all of this fucking around with another man meant about his masculinity, but he’d realised that he actually felt quite powerful whenever he was able to break Gustave’s composure. 

“My darling, my sweetheart, my handsome, wonderful man,” Gustave said, breathlessly, in between kisses. “I adore you.”

***

Some time later, Dmitri was completely and utterly content. As he lay in Gustave’s arms, the vaguest thought drifted across his mind that this _might_ all be a little sappy, but he didn’t let it consume him. After having spent a while with this man, he felt confident enough to admit that he actually quite liked to be held. 

Gustave was just so fucking good at it. Dmitri loved the slight softness of him; it was such a pleasant contrast to his own angular body, and it made lying against him like this incredibly comfortable. 

“Hey,” he said, slightly reluctant to break the peaceful silence. 

“Good evening” Gustave replied.

“I want you to photograph me” Dmitri confessed. 

“Right now?” 

“Not like I’m going to get any more relaxed,” Dmitri reasoned. “Congratulations. You’ve fucked the tension out of me again.”

“It’s my specialty,” said Gustave, climbing out of bed and pulling on his pyjamas. “ _And_ my pleasure,” he added, leaning in and kissing Dmitri affectionately on the forehead.

After all they’d just done, how did this man have the power to make him blush with a kiss, for fuck’s sake? 

“Where do you want me, Concierge?” Dmitri asked - he wasn’t quite sure how that had gone from being a disparaging jab at Gustave’s working class roots to being a term of endearment, but it had, and it was evidently here to stay. 

“On the chaise longue, if you please, Your Excellency” Gustave replied, and Dmitri strode over and reclined on it, obediently.

There was, deep down, a part of him that enjoyed being told what to do. At least, he liked it when Gustave did it - his weren’t harsh orders, but gentle suggestions. He supposed it would have been a little different if he’d been a staff member at the hotel, but then he doubted Gustave would have ordered any of _them_ to pose for naked pictures. The old fruit did have some morals, after all. 

There was something undeniably appealing about this, he thought, as he felt Gustave’s gaze and the camera’s lens upon him. Yes, he felt exposed, but he was with a man he trusted, and that made all the difference. He was more than happy to comply with Gustave’s requests for him to arch his back (“ _That’s lovely, darling_ ”), to throw his head back (“ _Just like that, wonderful_ ”), or to move his legs this way or that way (“ _No, no, slightly to the left. Your left, darling. A little more. Perfect._ ”) 

The more they continued like this, the more Dmitri had the suspicion that he might actually be enjoying it. He’d never considered himself much of an exhibitionist before, but lounging around this way felt strangely... liberating. Perhaps he’d have to get naked more often, he mused - only when there was no possibility whatsoever of any of Schloss Lutz’s servants making an unexpected entrance, of course (Clotilde had worked there for twelve years without seeing his dick;he certainly wasn’t about to traumatise the poor woman now.)

Yes, he could definitely get used to this - it felt wonderfully hedonistic to simply lie there and be observed, to be admired as though he himself were one of the many beautiful paintings which adorned the walls of his family home. 

He immediately realised that, given the history between himself and Gustave, perhaps paintings weren’t the best analogy to use.

“All right, darling,” said Gustave, putting down the camera, “I think we’re about done; you can move as you wish, now... though you needn’t get dressed unless you want to” he added, slyly.

It was rare for Dmitri Desgoffe-und-Taxis to feel lighthearted. He could normally be found brooding over some past mistake or another, so much so that it might be considered his natural state. However, as Gustave stared at him, he couldn’t help but be struck by the ridiculousness of his current situation and, despite himself, he laughed.

“Like what you see, don’t you, Concierge?” he teased, stretching himself out on the chaise longue like a relaxing cat. He shut his eyes and let a wide grin spread across his face as he basked in his lover’s admiration.

“Beautiful” Gustave sighed and, even with his eyes closed, Dmitri could feel him approaching. Sure enough, he soon felt Gustave’s warm, silk-clad body against him - it was always a welcome experience, though the thought did occur to him that the chaise longue probably wasn’t quite big enough for both of them. 

“Can’t keep your hands off me, can you?” said Dmitri, pulling his partner into an even deeper embrace.

“I’d see to you again,” Gustave said, somewhat remorsefully, “but I’m afraid I’m not quite as young as I used to be.”

(This was, frankly, quite a relief, for as much as Dmitri enjoyed it when they fucked, it _did_ tend to leave him rather exhausted.)

“It’s okay,” said Dmitri, tightening his hold around Gustave’s waist. “Fuck, I’m actually kind of tired too. How about we revisit this in the morning?”

This plan was mutually agreed upon as an excellent idea.

***

Once the photographs had been properly developed (courtesy of a cheerful Signor Kofler, who had once again commented upon Gustave’s good fortune), Dmitri was quite pleasantly surprised. He looked... good! He’d never before seen a picture of himself smiling (having once considered it a sign of weakness), and the various flaws of the man in the photo were overshadowed by his sheer happiness. 

For a moment, Dmitri allowed himself kindness. Perhaps his body, rather than being too thin, really _was_ elegant. Maybe his face really _was_ handsomely characterful, and not just plain. Could it be that there was a certain charm to him after all? 

Gustave certainly saw it and, as he looked through the photographs, Dmitri was at least a little less confused by the man’s desire for him. 

“Magnificent” Gustave concluded. “Just splendid, darling - you could model, you know. Any artist would be lucky to study you.”

“Hey now,” said Dmitri, “I never said I was a total fucking exhibitionist. Don’t get any wild ideas.”

“No, of course not,” said Gustave, pecking him on the cheek. “Though, I must say, I’m glad you at least allow me the pleasure.” 

It was at times like this when Dmitri was faced with a choice: did he play along with Gustave’s flirtation, or just cheerfully tell him to fuck off? The latter was quicker and easier, but the former was an awful lot more fun, and it wasn’t as though he had any other plans for the day...

“And you get to do more than just look at me” he said, resting his head on Gustave’s shoulder and feeling the man’s arm curl around him. 

“Signor Kofler is right, you know,” Gustave concluded. “I truly am a lucky man.”

***

The photo album would go unnoticed until the winter of 1995, when noted author and poet Amira Moustafa, determined to research her family’s history, would venture into Schloss Lutz. 

As she had discovered, her grandfather’s friends had certainly had some fun, in their day. Good God - could this really be her father’s Uncle Gustave? Upon the realisation, she shut the album in shock. Her memories of Gustave consisted mostly of the old man spouting poetry at family gatherings, or buying expensive gifts for her and her siblings - she’d never once considered that he might have had this side to him.

At least he had lived, she thought to herself. In a way, it was good to know he’d been able to enjoy himself - in years past, she’d wrongly assumed most people of his generation to be rather more prudish in that regard.

Her investigation of the grand house would yield many other relics of her family’s history, but she resolved to keep those particular photos a secret out of respect for their subjects. 

They probably weren’t meant to be seen by just anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I remember a friend of mine saying that Gustave would be an amazing partner for someone with a praise kink, which kind of inspired this (oddly enough, “Count Dmitri Desgoffe-und-Taxis has a secret praise kink” seems to be quite a common opinion amongst other people in this fandom I’ve talked to.) 
> 
> \- Sneaky English Patient reference there. Those who’ve watched/read it will know that that area’s called the suprasternal notch (and I’m inclined to agree with Count Almásy there - it *is* oddly sexy).
> 
> \- The first chapter of the sequel to Heart’s a Mess will be up soon - this is just some fluff in the meantime.


End file.
